


Growler's Grin

by AriesFortune



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bunch of supernatural creatures, Detectives, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Ghouls, I suck at naming businesses and places, M/M, Multi, POV Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Vampires, Wolves, Zombies, but I secretly giggle at my choices, more tags as I think of them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-11-10 08:50:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11123862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriesFortune/pseuds/AriesFortune
Summary: You know how that phrase goes? "Death follows you." Well, I'm sure no one meant it literally. But, it's true. Death followed me, and I made a living off it. Raising zombies and the occasional vampire staking: these were part of my everyday life now. It wasn't my first pick, but hey.. an affinity with death is not one of those gifts you want to run wild. At least the job paid well, even if the hours were shit, but it was mostly ordinary. Sometimes routine was broken by a police consultation here and there, but it was all just peachy. Nothing I couldn't handle on three hours of sleep.Until a green-eyed client walked into my office one day. Maybe I should get more sleep. Because I shouldn't have taken that job. But, hey? No regrets, right?(More like 'no choice.' I am so f-cked.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Anita Blake series. I started that series back in high school, and loved the world that Hamilton had created! Recently came across the books again, and felt inspired to blend the SnK characters into that world. Hopefully, it works. Credit goes to Laurell K. Hamilton for major inspiration of her world, and of course to the creators of SnK. <3 Wouldn't be obsessed without these.

Jean Kirstein was not the type of person that easily asked for help. His being newly promoted to detective at Trost P.D. certainly did not change that. Seated on the bar stool in a simple button-up left untucked, dark vest and slim grey pants that tucked into boots, I had to privately admit that the casual wear fitted Kirstein well. Dressed in that attire (and with that awful two-toned hair style), one would never guess that he was a detective. But, the look on his face, the skin drawn taut over the sharp angle of his jaw and cheeks, told me that Jean Kirstein was very much on duty. Yet, the detective cradled a bottle of beer that he continuously rolled between his palms, back and forth- and back and forth- until I was certain that his hands no longer felt the summer heat that shimmered through the open air layout of CG's Bar & Grille.

"Kirs-" I moved to saddle the stool beside him, but paused mid-action when he startled with a little jump. One hand gripped the slick cold bottle, the other hand had already disappeared to the side where I knew he usually wore his shoulder holster and gun. Thankfully, it wasn't there today. I didn't want to guess what happened when the kid felt antsy. Which brings me to this thought-- He'd never been easy to startle before, nor have I ever seen him lost in thought. I frowned, felt the tension sit between my brows as I stared at him. "Stress is getting to you, Kirstein. You look like you need to shit." He looked suitably embarrassed or appalled, his posture becoming less stiff with the interaction as he greeted me with a narrowed gaze at the remark. "Already shit-talkin', Captain?"

"Not a captain, anymore." I jutted my chin towards the untouched beverage in his hand, ignoring his remark. "Going to finish that?" He was already wired for some reason, and I wanted to know why I was called here. Maybe when I was younger, a time long past, I would have risen to the bait. But, I like to think that I've learned to control myself better. With age comes wisdom and all. That, and I wanted his beer. He could have his small smug victory.

Jean glanced to the bottle, blinked as if unsure how it had gotten there, then slid it over with a small frown. "Pretty sure Captain Smith would say it's too early, sir."

"I'm not the one that ordered. And, most importantly," I stated, pausing to take a gulp of the cold liquid, "He's not my problem." The beer was bitter, but damned if it wasn't just perfect in the sweltering summer that blanketed the city as of late. I set the bottle back down and lifted a brow, wanting to ease the tension that plagued the kid, if only so I could relax as well. His frown lingered for a second longer before his expression smooth and his lips curved just a touch at the edges. It was good enough for now.

"Your grave, Captain," he snorted. I chose to ignore the title this time. Repetition was not my favorite pastime.

"Why'd you call me here, Kirstein?" I cocked my head to the side, curious to get answers. It was odd to be called by my former subordinate, especially to a bar. I did occasionally see a few of his friends gathered at the bar on the rare occasion that I went myself, but I never joined them. It seemed inappropriate to ruin their good fun and laughter, despite their civil attempts to include me. But here we were. Just the two of us. At a bar. In the middle of the day. Smack dab in the middle of a typical business week. Lots of middles. See what I'm getting at here?

"We- no, I- I need your help. Your.. expertise."

"Informative," I drawled. I may be many things, but psychic was never one of them. I wanted another swig of beer, but the little line that pinched between his brows told me to hold off. Be still, my quivering tastebuds.

"It's a case, Cap-"

I raised the bottle and took a swig anyway. The abrupt action- or maybe, my irritation- startled him, or scared him; he stopped mid-sentence. When he began again, it was like I had opened the floodgates.

"A series of murders. Looked like zombies, possibly gone out of control. We found two- two zombies and their owner- and thought it was over. But-" His open palm smacked the bar counter, and sounded painful though he didn't react. I gripped the bottle and waited, just leaned back in my stool. His face had gone pale, the light brown hair seemed bolder against the sudden pallor. He stared me down for a few moments, gauging my reaction before he cleared his throat and continued, soft and low.

"There's more." He said it like I should have understood. Again- not a psychic. 

"More?"

"Bodies." He was shaking his head before I could ask, "No more zombies. We don't even know if it's zombies anymore."

Well, that shouldn't have been anything new. They often had murders, missing cases, theft-- it all seemed cruelly typical in their line of work. More bodies than answers. It wasn't even that long since his unit had been established; a preternatural crime unit meant to solve cases of varying degrees-- anything that involved something not human. Deadbeats, the unit was called; no one seemed to remember the legitimate name of the squad anymore. It was a political move from the higher-ups; something to look good for the public. Most of them were fresh from the academy, newbies that didn't quite have a place to go. Some were transferred over from other squads, the unwanteds or people that had just pissed off the wrong person. None of them seemed to have a clue about anything preternatural that didn't come from television shows or fictional books. You can never trust the shit you see on tv. And, who reads anymore?

Good news for them when Captain Erwin Smith transferred to their unit. No one knows why. I guessed that he might have pissed off some chief or worse. It had happened one day, and he had taken over with a resolve that was admirable. It was his idea to reach out to those of the scholarly community that held some knowledge of vampires, ghouls, and the like. It was a start, at least. But, that also placed me back on damned Bushy Brow's radar. I had left the police department years ago, but even now, it was no surprise when my phone rang in the middle of the night. Except I was no longer taking calls.

Jean Kirstein was young. And new. But, he had seen his fair share of violent crimes. As far as I knew, he had handled himself as well as a young officer could at a fresh scene. It was a testament to his own stubborn will or determination that he was still there. Yet, he seemed agitated by this one, for whatever reason he had yet to share. His fingers stretched out to grasp the beer bottle that was no longer his to hold. I sat up a little straighter; I held my tongue. Jean continued, his words coming out faster now but hushed. 

"Captain Smith said you refuse to help anymore. But, we need you, sir." His hand reached out again, this time towards my own. His fingers gripped tight in a fist, an inch away from my wrist, and I am grateful for the effort it had taken to stop himself from closing that gap. Hazel eyes looked to my own, beseeching. "It was a mother and a child this time. I don't want to see another of those." Jean Kirstein had never been one to ask for help. First time for everything.

 

 

 

The sun was well and truly burning at its peak in the sky when I left the bar. Sweat trickled down my back within moments of sliding into the seat of my old car, and not for the first or even fifth time that day did I curse myself for delaying the inevitable. Priority one: get my paycheck, and send the car to the shop. Even with the windows rolled down, the drive was not pleasant. There was no breeze to be had today, and the humidity made any piece of clothing unbearable in seconds. I had to roll the sleeves up to my elbows at the next red light, and even that provided little respite. 

Thankfully, traffic was not its usual clusterfuck of vehicles. The drive was short and I arrived at the office building with plenty of time to spare. My office was on the third floor of a four-story building; it wasn't large by any means, but it was sufficient for the small company that I belonged. There was an elevator that conveniently remained out of order a majority of the year, though I refused to trust my life in the contraption if it ever did work. The receptionist, a stern-faced woman of indeterminate age, was the first point of contact upon reaching the third floor. She made no movement of acknowledgement, and continued tapping steadily on the keyboard, eyes fixed to the screen.

"Rico," I nodded as I passed by.

"Pixis wants to see you." She didn't falter in her typing, nor did she look away from the glowing screen.

"When?" I paused, just a step away from being clear of the long desk.

The tap of the keys came to a halt, and Rico Brzenska finally fixed pale eyes to my own. Over the years, I had grown accustomed to her apathetic stare. It had unnerved many clients, even though Pixis had always advised her to smile. That outcome had almost been a disaster. I couldn't be sure, but I think Pixis either dropped the advice, or Rico just ignored it. It didn't really bother me, either way. I could see the moment she surrendered, the minute tick as she sucked on the inner part of her lips, but did not otherwise change expression. "Now, Mr. Ackerman."

It was nowhere near the time of shift; I had at least two hours before my first client, and had hoped to use the time for paperwork. All the same, I marched straight down the hallway, framed on either side by a few doors, a few with names but most empty of words, and to the frosted glass door that read, Commander, and underneath it: Dot Pixis. The first time I had read the title, I had actually assumed the man was at least a bit.. eccentric, to put it mildly. Now, I know it for certain. I tapped my knuckles on the glass, and heard the low voice call me to enter.

The bald old man stood by the window that almost entirely encompassed the back wall behind his desk. In his hands, he idly stirred a straw in his coffee mug, the strong smell wafting through the cool air of the office. His office was always immaculate, a fact that I had come to appreciate over the years. There were always stacks of papers on his desk, but they were never haphazardly set on the desk, and there never seemed to be a layer of dust anywhere. Not even on the thin strips of blinds that he often peered through whenever I came to visit him. 

"Levi. You're early." His voice was pleasant, seemed amicable more often than not. From experience, I knew very little upset this man. I did not want to be around on the day that might change. 

"It's payday." I shrugged, closing the door behind me. 

"Yes. Of course. It's on the desk. A direct deposit would be more efficient." 

"I prefer the tangible."

"Don't trust me yet?" Pixis sipped his coffee, but did not turn away from whatever view he was fixated on.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

He turned then, his lips curved and eyes wrinkled just at the corners in a smile that did not quite light his eyes. He was a strange old man, hard to read as ever. I didn't trust him, but I wouldn't say as much to his face. Never knew how he might react. And, it wasn't worth the risk. I reached for the blank envelope set neatly on the desk and sat in the chair as Pixis settled into his own. "I did. You have a client coming in."

I knew that much. It wasn't ordinary for him to state the obvious, or to re-confirm my schedule of appointments. "I do," I answered slowly, wary of his statement and its purpose. "At four."

"I'm aware, Levi, of that client. What I should have said is that you have a client now." He stressed the last word with another slight curve of his lips, and this time the light almost reached his eyes. He leaned back into the leather plush of his chair, coffee mug forgotten on a coaster that had materialized out of thin air (because I had never seen him reach for one). His fingertips pressed into each other until his hands were steepled in front of his chest. "I heard the police have need of a consultation from you as well."

It was hard not to let my brows drift upwards in surprise. At which statement? Probably both. I wanted to ask: how? But, there wasn't much of a point. The old man only said what he wanted to say. His eyes twinkled now. "I'll be sure to bill them for your time, as always." Never mind that he never asked if I had accepted the job; presumptuous, wily old coot.

"The client?"

"Ah, yes," Pixis rose to his feet, and walked to his office door. He opened it and held it as he spoke. "Shouldn't keep them waiting."

That was my cue to leave. Paycheck in hand, and with more questions than answers, I left the office and headed back down the hallway. Just as I passed by the second door to the left, it opened, and the bespectacled face loomed in front of my own. There was only one bespectacled face that dared to get that close. Had it not been an almost daily occurrence, I would have felt hostile towards this intruder. I slapped the envelope in the face instead. "Personal space, Spectacles." See? Not hostile. 

"Manners, Levi," the owner of said face laughed, unperturbed by the thin smack of paper, and only moved back a small margin. Brown eyes and a wide toothy grin beamed down upon me, and it required great effort not to use my paycheck with deadly force. If only I wasn't confident that Pixis wouldn't reissue the damned precious slip of paper. I stepped around the obstacle and continued down the hall. My office was the next door down on the right. I could see the simple black font on the frosted glass that read only my name: Levi Ackerman. No title, nothing fancy or complicated. Just my name. The larger shadow loomed behind me with every step, and with it came the voice. There was no other way to describe it.

"Levi, you're here early! Oh right, it is the 15th. You should really sign up for direct deposit. I was paid yesterday."

I would have signed up for direct deposit a long time ago. It would have been convenient to be paid a day early, and not have to come early to the office for a check. But, at this point, I refused on principle. A man has got to have at least one or two of those. 1. Don't interrupt a person on the shitter. 2. Don't sign up for a convenient direct deposit, because then Glasses and old Mr. Shine would never stop harping over how long it had taken my surrender.

"You know we're correct. You shouldn't be so stubborn about it, _Levi_." Although, this heckling wasn't any better. I could feel my jaw clench when my name dragged out a touch too long to be anything but intentional. We stopped just outside of my door. Now, to be clear, I don't typically believe in miracles; my luck has been particularly shitty throughout life. But, life, right? Never know where it's going to take you. With that being said..

A miracle! The voice that followed me down the hall lowered remarkably to a hush. A loud hush, but a vast improvement. "Your clients, Levi. Did the Commander tell you about them?" I had almost missed the significance of the words; they had almost been drowned out by the heavenly chorus. But, several instances brought reality to focus. Plural? And, why the hush? Why the question?

I stopped before I opened the door and turned to fix Hange Zoe with a level gaze. She had lowered her head to whisper near my ear, so her face was uncomfortably close. But, considering our walls were not soundproof, I managed to deal with it. "What do you know?" Limpid brown eyes, normally lit with an almost manic light, were serious and calm, for once, the wide grin faded so her features were more relaxed. She seemed to contemplate her next words, and I could almost see the gears grinding behind her thin wire glasses. I saw the moment she decided to share, a bit of that light returning to her face.

"It's a couple: male and female. I don't know much about what they want, other than they are looking for a missing friend. Rico was the one that took down their information. I was supposed to take them since Oluo is out of the office with Petra, but the kid insisted that they see you." If Hange were anything but human, I might have been concerned about the stare that she fixed upon me. It would have burned a whole straight through my skull, as if she could somehow learn something that I didn't know just by staring at me long enough and hard enough. 

"Kid?" I pressed my lips together, felt the tension on my forehead draw my brows down. I did not like to deal with brats. It was a serious question, and I had expected a similarly toned answer. This was Hange Zoe. The light had definitely returned at this point. The glasses gleamed eerily like those of a mad scientist you often see on the television.

"Not entirely a kid." Her hand came down square between my shoulder blades as she clapped me in the back heavily. It was years of practice that kept my face stoic, but irritated. Mostly irritated. "You'll see when you get in there." Then, of all things, she had winked. And she was gone again. A fucking tornado just railroaded me, seconds before I had to meet my potential clients.

I rolled my shoulders, attempted to ease the tension for naught, and entered the office. 

 

 

My office was situated on the back half of the building, right in the center. In the daytime, it barely received any sunlight; not that it mattered as I rarely worked past 7 a.m. and hardly appeared before 4 p.m. Daylight hours belonged to the paper- and pen- pushers, like Pixis and Rico. During the summer, as the afternoon drifted by, light spilled in and the small park with its trees and bushes that was tucked away behind the building would gleam with shades of brilliant emerald and gold. It was a peaceful, beautiful view; one that I tried to take a minute to enjoy before I usually began my shift. 

I was not to have that luxury today. My first view of the day was of another enjoying that very same view out of my office window. He had pulled the blinds up so that nothing obstructed the window. I only noticed after the fact when I had to pull them down later when the sun started to beat at the back of my head. The sun was not quite at the right position, but even so, I knew the view to be relaxing. Especially in the city; greenery such as that was a rare sight outside of carefully planned suburbia. None of those thoughts were what went through my head in that moment.

The 'kid' was tall, taller than me- though that was not a difficult feat. His frame was thin, but not in the way that was fragile and might have suggested he had barely lifted a finger in his life. He was thin, but sturdy. His shoulders were a bit too broad for his body, hips and waist narrow, but his arms were corded with lean muscle that rolled under golden tan skin when he crossed them. He looked almost angry, staring out the window; the angles on his face oddly sharp and delicate, which made no sense. I was no Da Vinci, and had little knowledge of art and bone structure. Ask me where to hurt someone so they died slowly, painfully: that, I could tell you.

But.. he was beautiful. Something that I couldn't place had saved him from being pretty or handsome. 

Miracle two: I had never lost my sense of time or purpose by just looking at a person.

"Disgusting." I had muttered it out loud, not proud of my momentary lapse as I practically ogled the kid. His head whipped around so fast that I nearly grimaced at the motion. It looked like it might have been painful. But, all he did was glare.

"Excuse me." This voice was soft and melodic, if not a bit monotonous. An odd combination. But it wasn't his; it sounded behind me. The unknown female. I stepped further into my office and towards my side of the desk. I could see both of them from this angle. Just as Hange described: a male and female. Both young, but not as young as I had assumed. They were probably in their 20s. Maybe mid-20s?

"I'm told you requested me," I said, for lack of better words. Conversation is not my forte. "Sit." And I don't play host well.

"Eren?" The girl addressed her partner, whom still had yet to speak. Not that I was waiting. I sat down in my own chair and pulled out a notepad and pen. Typically, I would have had at least a file and some background, but apparently the joke was on me. Pixis must have felt it was better to hear their request with fresh eyes and ears. It meant that I probably would not like it.

When they had both finally seated themselves, we sat there in silence for a moment longer than I felt necessary. "What is your problem?" I probably could have phrased that better. But, my last client had to meet just before dawn and I didn't get home until nearly six in the morning. Kirstein had called at eight and requested a meeting at eleven, which meant I had only gotten three hours of sleep. I was not in the mood for pleasantries.

The green-eyed kid glowered at me, looked as if he would not speak. I had turned my attention to the black-haired girl whom seemed prepared to answer the question or make comment on my lack of cordial behavior. "You're Levi Ackerman? Legal vampire executioner?"

It was a question, but it sounded accusatory. I held back any remark and just nodded. Hopefully this was getting somewhere. "Eren, maybe we should see someone else," the girl stage-whispered. I doubt she was trying to be discreet. His eyes never left me, he just had to shake his head. Eren looked determined for whatever the cause might be. Well, that was enough watching their performance. 

"If you two have decided, then.." I made to rise and excuse them from the office. 

"No!" The boy had risen to his feet in a quick movement that startled me. I hadn't even realized that I had stepped back and slid into a defensive position, ready for an attack. The girl rose slowly, her body faced mine but she spared a glance to her companion. "Our friend is missing. We need you to find him."

Hell, it seemed everything about this 'Eren' was determined to leave me off-kilter.


	2. Chapter 2

His eyes. Those damned green eyes. By the end of the meeting, I had wanted to blindfold him. Or at least hand him some shades. Instead, I had stared him down; I gave no quarter. Of course, Eren Jaeger just stared right back. He had audacity, and a stubborn streak that was infinitely wide. Under that will, you either break the streak, or fold. I don't like to consider myself sentimental, but I did not want to be the one that break that will. Not this time, anyhow. So, I allowed myself to bend. 

"You won't leave," I tapped a finger on the desk, still staring at the black phone just inches away. I could have called Rico, invited the aid of my coworkers to escort the troublesome duo from my office. That would not have been at all like me. And, it would be miserably worse to seek help from 'Shitty Glasses.' But, Eren Jaeger and Mikasa Ackerman did not know that.

"No. We won't." He mostly spoke for the two of them. But, whatever he said had to be gospel, because Mikasa straightened her back and sat in her chair with solid resolve.

"And you won't take a refund."

"The contract said-" The kid hadn't even considered a refund. The slight wrinkle between his brows said as much.

"I would refund you." That was most certainly not like me. The three hours of sleep must have weighed heavily on me. I should have poured coffee down my throat when I had the chance. But the shit just ran through me, and I hated every second of it: going in or out. 

"No." Whenever Mikasa spoke, the girl kept her voice soft and low. It wasn't devoid of emotions; it just simply kept balance. As if she were not, and would not, be perturbed. But, the way she positioned herself close to Eren, angled her body naturally towards his own, made me guess that she was only as rock solid as her foundation. And that foundation was mostly made up of the brunet. Whether he realized it or not. If Eren crumbled or simply did not exist, her carefully constructed poise would also crack. 

So, I did not give her much attention. My opponent was the green-eyed brat. He stared at the phone, watched my hand with a look that made me wonder if he would bite it if I so much as flinched towards the thing. He looked hungry. I moved my hand away slowly, watched as he followed the movement and did not relax until I had sat down at my desk once more.

"Your missing friend. What's the name?"

If he was caught off guard by my change in topic, he did well not to show it. But, the anger and determination that seemed almost permanently fixed to his face faded under the glow of hope. I cleared my throat, and smothered the other noise that threatened to slip out. It would do me no favors to laugh now. Not when the kid finally relaxed. Eren smiled, and I could almost see him picturing his friend as he spoke, "Armin Arlert. He's 23; will be 24 this November."

He reached into his pocket, tugged out a cellphone and clicked it on. The screen glowed with an image that he turned towards me: a photo of three friends. I already knew who two of them were, so it was not difficult to assume correctly that the blond-haired, blue-eyed face smiling back was none other than Armin Arlert. I nodded, and he brought the phone to his lap, cradled it in his hands and stared down at it.

"He's a research assistant at Trost University. Or, he will be- next week's supposed to be his first." His voice cracked at the end, and Mikasa reached a hand to touch his wrist. A light touch that said more than she had ever expressed in my office. Were they dating? Maybe Armin got tired of the lovey-dovey bullshit and just decided to cut them out? I could see the image, burned bright in my thoughts of two laughing faces, and Mikasa's own slight smile. No, that was happiness. Eren continued, "We meet every other Tuesday. For movies and games." 

"A sleepover?" I raised a brow. 

His voice grew quiet and he almost seemed to curl in on himself, just at the edges, "Yes. It's hard to stay in touch.. Mikasa lives in the next town and Armin's busy with school." He was embarrassed. 

I wanted to tell him that I did not care. I wasn't judging him. I just didn't care. But, that seemed.. inappropriate. It probably would have embarrassed him further. I wisely kept my mouth shut. And, Pixis thought I had shitty client relations. Eren glanced at me, breathed in deeply, and pressed on, "He never showed up last night. No calls or texts, all day yesterday and today. He always texts back eventually, even if he's busy. But, we never miss our Tuesdays."

Mikasa squeezed Eren's wrist in gentle comfort. He placed a hand over hers, and lifted his gaze to meet mine. His resolve had not wavered; I'd only steeled him to pursue success. "We need you to find him, sir."

"The police would be-"

"They can't." He seemed firm on this point. Each time I had mentioned the police, he shut the idea down. 

"Trost P.D. is-"

"You were a detective once," Mikasa stated. As if I needed to be reminded of my history. I wanted to stare them down. To see them flinch under my gaze. I've done it to clients in the past; those whom were just ignorant and thought speaking to an animator would be funny. Shits & giggles. Their money flushed down the toilet, but I still did not like to waste my time. 

Their adamant resolve that _I_ had to help them, that _I_ would be the one to find their missing friend, made me frown. I did not keep it a secret that I had previously been part of the city's police force, but it was never advertised. Wily as the old Cueball might be, he knew my boundaries. So, how had these two slipped past his screening? There was a reason. Something that I did not know just yet.

"There's something you can't tell the police," I was fishing. The shared look of slight surprise between the two confirmed that suspicion. I pressed on, "But, you feel as if I would be better equipped to handle." They nodded in unison. I waited, out of ideas. I did not play games well.

Eren cleared his throat, spared another meaningful glance to his partner, then leaned close to my desk. He lowered his voice and I resisted the urge to lean over my desk to hear him out. "Armin has- is-" It seemed difficult to speak of, whatever it was. 

"Spit it out, kid." 

"He has lycanthropy. He's a shapeshifter." He blurted out the statements quickly and probably louder than he had originally intended. The tips of his ears burned red as he turned his head to look at the door behind him, as if he had expected someone to rush in at the confession. No one would come. But, I felt that any reassurance on my end would do little to set him back from the edge. Instead, I let his words sink in, and frowned at what it meant. 

"An, no one knows," I voiced my suspicion. They both flinched, as if I had accused them, but Eren nodded. 

Understanding dawned upon me, and I almost felt sorry for their situation. Lycanthropy was a disease; a contagious one, though not in the way that a flu or cold might be contagious. Most shapeshifters were survivors of an attack; all it takes is a single scratch from a were-animal and the chances of shifting at the next moon were highly likely. If you survived. I doubted that most survivors considered themselves lucky. If you survived and you turned furry, you were ostracized. Suddenly, people would lose their jobs, relationships, families- for one reason or another, but never officially because of 'lycanthropy.' That was asking for a lawsuit. Most simply kept silence, hid their new animal disposition, and continued on, leading a double life.

If anyone had ever asked my opinion, I would have said that monsters were monsters, no matter the species. As a former detective, I knew better than most that humankind had more than their fair share of skeleteons in the closet. And, humans had little excuse when it came to acts of cruelty. At least monsters could blame their natural instincts. You can't fight nature. But, if I were face to face with a shapeshifter in its furry form.. could I honestly say that I wouldn't shoot? Shoot and not lose sleep over it?

"Anything else?" 

Concentration drew the kid's brows downward, eyes closed as he thought. When he lifted his head, he looked lost. "I don't know anything more about.." His palms were turned up, fingers flexed before they returned to a tight grasp. "He doesn't talk much about his.." He visibly floundered.

"There's something else." Her voice had never lifted over the quiet volume that seemed pre-selected. Mikasa was not angled towards Eren this time. She sat, face clearly turned to the front so that she probably only saw an ounce of the confusion that bled over the kid's face. She must have felt some small bit of guilt, because she explained, "Armin never told Eren. He was worried that he'd do something dangerous." I didn't really know Eren, but I'd probably agree with Armin. "But, he's said that the shapeshifters are under the thumb of the Master of the City."

 

 

I didn't have much time to consider my new clients after they had left. (Bickering from what I could tell as the office door shut.) Life waits for no one. The phone rang and it was Kirstein. He wanted to know if I would be available to come to the medical examiner's office to take a look at the bodies. Sure. Let me just fit you in between the three clients that wanted to raise their uncle/grandma/father/sister all before 6 a.m. Fuck sleep, am I right? 

I agreed to meet him tomorrow morning after my last client. I warned him not to be late. I wasn't going to wait. If I was lucky, I could be finish with that, and be home, showered and in bed by eight. I may even get a solid eight hours of sleep on my day/evening off tomorrow. Which reminded me..

I made another call to an old friend, a manager of a popular night venue in the downtown area of the vampire district. Farlan was glad to hear from me, joked that our friendship had gone as stale as his death bed. Ha. Ha. He was more than happy to set a table for me tomorrow night. He was so eager to spread the news of my visit that before I hung up, I could hear him shouting for Isabelle. At least it was in the evening. Not a total waste of my night off. Eight hours of sleep, here I come. That's what I call 'sweet victory.'

I had barely started on my paperwork when the alarm on my watch went off, reminding me it was time to head out to the cemetery. Thankfully, the sun had already begun to set, the summer air growing cooler with every passing minute. I relished the drive to Santa Maria cemetery. It was located just on the outskirts of the city, and was one of the oldest cemeteries in the city. Lots of gravestones, monuments and plenty of unmarked graves- the bodies and their markers forgotten and neglected over time. Graveyards were not my favorite place to be, oddly enough.

But, if you ever felt the pull of the dead, you would understand. The newer cemeteries were not so much a problem, but the older they were, the more ghosts and spirits. They couldn't really harm you, but that didn't stop the spirits from trying sometimes. I couldn't blame them. Most were forgotten and nameless spectres that had taken the neglect hard. Over time, their anger and resentment gave them strength; but nothing lasts forever. Eventually, they would fade to nothing but a chill that might make a person think twice before proceeding. Then, that, too, would be gone.

I held the cage with the chicken in one hand; in the other was my zombie kit. It was nothing more than a black duffel bag with my knives, bowls, herbs, ointments, and any other various paraphernalia needed for a ritual. In most cases, I just needed a knife, bowl and the single jar of ointment. And, of course, a sacrifice. It was always better to be prepared, so I packed extra other items-- just in case. I would hate it if I were ever caught unaware and unprepared. So, I over-packed. It didn't make much of a difference.

Just as the sun had set, I finished the last of the verification that was necessary before every raising. Necessary only because of legalities; and, also it would really irritate me if I called the wrong person from the grave. I like to let the dead rest when they can.

My clients were Mrs. Weber and her two adult children whom were also known as Ms. Weber and Mr. Weber. Yes, it was a pain in the ass. But, they all wanted their due respect. They each also had their own lawyers because apparently there was some issue with the late Mr. Weber's will, and the children argued that they were owed more of the inheritance. As for Mrs. Weber, her lawyer was certainly more invested in the argument than the elderly woman had ever given the impression. 

For once, all of them stood uncomfortably silent on the almost fresh grave of late Mr. Gerald Weber. When I had begun the training required to take on this job, I had been surprised how little clients seemed to understand of what they were requesting. Sure, 'raise the dead' seemed to speak for itself. I bet they thought: 'How bad could it be?' Most of them went pale and wide-eyed as soon as I grabbed the chicken, which always squawked and screeched unhappily. Up until I cut it open. Just one swift cut: no suffering, and plenty of blood. If that didn't do them in, it was the drawing of my own blood that seemed to make even the toughest male tremble at the knees. It was always a small cut, just a nick-- I only ever needed a drop or two to seal the circle. 

Then, the magic begins. I can't honestly explain how it works. It just does. I could always feel the dead, but those that have been laid to rest feel incomplete. And, it was my effort and will that stitched them together. What were zombies made of? Snakes, snails, and puppy dog tails-- no, I'm kidding. Just some homemade ointment, to help with the power of the circle, the control. I kept mine in an old recycled jelly jar. It seemed to work just fine. Blood, of course. And.. whatever it was that made me feel 'death.'

"Gerald Weber." I called. No fancy hocus-pocus here, folks. Just a name. That's all you really need. In fact, I didn't even need to say it aloud. Pixis said it was better for the clients. We provide a comfortable service. How nice for them.

Depending on how talented an animator, a zombie could look practically alive. Except.. it has no life. You could make it breathe, fart, whatever. But it would always be dead. It could still have its former personality, previous knowledge-- except for one fact. Almost all zombies seemed to have forgotten that they were dead. Gerald Weber, dressed neatly in a suit, was not one of the few that remembered. Mrs. Weber sobbed loudly. "Mr. Weber," I addressed firmly, "You will answer their questions."

And, so, ignorant or uncaring of the man's confusion, the hyenas descended. I turned my head to give some semblance of privacy, but there was little else I could do. The creator of the zombie does not leave the circle. Sure, I could risk it. And risk losing control of Mr. Weber. Hm. How would his children handle their father's matter splattered over their pristine suits when I had no choice but to put the man down? If I had to shoot him as if he were no better than a rabid dog? Would they cry then?

Somehow, I doubted it. When business was done, the clients left. Mr. Weber stood on the edge of the circle and pleaded to be taken home. "Eleanor?" His confused cry as he fought against the barrier to reach his wife. For all her tears, she had never turned back. I was left to clean up the mess. "Sleep." I said. Because there was no point in comforting the dead. Like the chicken, I could only do one thing: make it quick and painless. No suffering. Zombies were just another sacrifice.

 

 

It wasn't the ringing of the phone that jolted me out of sleep. It was a deep baritone of a voice that said my name. "Levi." I sat up in bed, a hand stretched towards a gun tucked between headboard and mattress. I turned my head to the sound, stared at the answering machine as it continued.

"It's Erwin Smith. Answer the phone." The familiar voice spoke. Or rather directed. Like I didn't know who that voice belonged to. Like I'd forgotten. God knew I had tried. I was irritated before I even answered the phone.

"It's my day off," was what I wanted to say. But, Erwin Smith was not one to make conversational calls. "I'm here," was what I went with.

" _Levi_ ," he said my name, and the calm, carefully composed tone softened with the two syllables. I felt my blood grow warm beneath my skin, felt heat curl in my abdomen. 

Before I could decide where I should take my annoyance out on the man, he continued. "Sorry if I have interrupted your sleep." No, he wasn't. We both knew it. But, he needed to say it. "Come to the Santa Maria cemetery in thirty minutes."

'Why?' flitted through my thoughts, my brain still groggy with sleep. I looked at the alarm clock on the dresser, squinted at the red digits and frowned. I'd gotten five hours. That was better than three. My body still wanted the full eight that I'd mentally promised myself.

"Levi?" He said my name again. I could almost picture the small, barely perceived crease between his brows. I heard it in his voice. I almost said: "I'm here." But, surely I could do better in a conversation than repeating the same sentence twice. I wasn't that horrible yet.

"Okay." And I hung up. I didn't want to make any more small talk. I doubt I'd be capable until after a shower. I slid from bed, and glared at the alarm clock as I padded by. I flicked the alarm switch to 'off' and made my way to a quick shower. Even a five minute shower would mean I'd be cutting it close to the time limit that Erwin Smith had set, but the man could wait. He would wait.

 

 

I know I make a living out of walking in and out of cemeteries, but I rarely visited one in daylight. It was odd to see a familiar scene so washed out by bright sunlight; the dark stones of grave markers and statues almost pale gray or white in the afternoon. The flowers that decorated several graves were vivid in color, bright and cheery despite their environment. 

And, the people that milled hurriedly over the cemetery, dressed in blues, blacks and grays, seemed even more so out of place. No one hurried in a cemetery. It was always slow, shuffling steps; the pace of mourners whom either were close to collapse from the burden of their grief and loss, or were simply blending in with the crowd out of respect.

I slid my sunglasses on, still narrowed my eyes because even with shades, it was brighter than I'd prefer. The police tape was situated almost on the opposite end of the cemetery, where the woods formed a border to the large grounds. I'd wondered how they even found the scene, but I'd pass the ambulance with the small family seated in the back. There was a child in his mother's lap, a toy plane clutched in chubby fingers, but he had lost his energy. He was silent and still, seemed confused and scared, as his mother hugged him close. She had understood whatever it was he had seen, and it was probably her pale face streaked with tears that made the toddler solemn.

I was almost to the last row of graves when a hot wind carried the pungent scent to my nose. It was death. No doubt of that. I was never called for anything other than death. But, the smell was not just that of something dead; it was a sign of a gruesome demise. I pressed my lips tight and came just to the edge of the police tape when an uniform finally halted my progress.

"Civilians aren't allowed here, sir."

I didn't even have to defend or explain myself before Jean Kirstein jogged over to the man. I'd seen the kid more in two days than I had in an entire year. I don't think I'd seen anyone that often- that wasn't my coworker. Must be a new record. "Step off, Marlo. The Captain's with us." He shouldered past 'Marlo' and lifted the tape for me. Marlo stood there, too serious and too stiff in his uniform, like he couldn't feel the humid heat as it smothered us. 

"Captain? Even so, I'll need to see his badge.." Far too serious. He must have been new, and definitely not assigned to the deadbeat squad. He was probably a Trost P.D. poster child: followed his orders, never deviated from the law, fought for justice, yada yada. It's no wonder he was assigned to tape guard. Probably annoyed the shit out of his senior officers.

"Levi," Captain Erwin Smith greeted, stepping up behind Kirstein whom stood just a bit taller, a tad straighter. Who could blame him? Erwin Smith was a tall, blond hair, blue eyed Adonis, his face just shy of being regal enough to put on a damned coin. Well, if it weren't for his bushy brows; a flaw that I was not remiss to point out on occasion. "Excellent timing. The forensics team have just finished." That was my cue to follow and do what I was good at. Or, at least, better than most on the squad.

I left Jean Kirstein with Marlo as he blustered by the tape, uncertain whether he should apologize or argue his point. Let them hash it out. I cleared my thoughts for the task at hand. The smell grew stronger with each scent, curled heavily in the humidity until I could almost imagine the layer of it permeating the sweat along on my skin, diffusing into my body. I removed my sunglasses, blinked and waited till my eyes readjusted to the sunlight. Erwin kept silent beside me, a cool pillar of solidarity and familiarity. He signaled for the area around the victims to be cleared. Then it was just him and me, and..

I stared at the mess on the ground. Blood is red, true red, vibrant and bright especially on a clear, sunny day. Not at all the darker shade that is often portrayed in movies and television. I pulled a pair of latex gloves from my back pocket, squeezed my hands into the suffocating material and approached the gory turmoil. I slid a disposable mask over my mouth, but left my nose free to inhale the stench-plagued air. My stomach rolled, protested at the sight and smell, and a part of brain had taken up the mantra: 'no, no, not there, no, no-'

"What do you think?" I asked. 

"Is that not why you're here? Tell me what you think, Levi." He was right.

I blinked, irritated at the crawling sensation of sweat on my scalp, wriggling down between strands of hair. I dare not touch myself until I was away from the scene. I made myself stare at the victims. There were two. At least. I counted the ragged limbs cast in a pile, satisfied that there was enough proper pairs for two whole people. The pile of limbs was a few feet away, not neatly stacked, but not messy. It wasn't the main focus. I crouched down by the torso, frowned at the ragged mess and looked for signs. Large claw marks, signs of teeth, anything to clue me in on the perpetrator. "It's not zombies. Or ghouls." 

"How can you tell?" 

I nodded towards the limbs. "That pile wouldn't be there. There's no signs of feeding on the limbs either. Zombies or ghouls wouldn't discriminate. Or arrange their food like that." 

He hummed. I didn't look, but I knew he was mentally taking notes. Filing away information for later. "What else?"

And, that was the problem. I stared at the mess, tried to see something more. The victim had been disemboweled, organs were missing, but nothing carefully removed. There was no specific target. I stood up slowly, turned my back to the scene, assured that I would not be seeking out a meal afterwards. "Kirstein showed me the other bodies this morning."

"So I'm told."

"They were intact."

He didn't bother to answer.

"Did you find the heads?"

Erwin Smith stared into the woods, his gaze distant. A cool breeze lifted strands of golden hair, ruffled the neatly parted hairstyle. I kept my distance, so I wouldn't have to tilt my head to keep eye contact. "How is it on the outside?" The question startled me. We didn't talk personal. Not anymore. Not since I left the police.

"Fine," I edged, wary of the sudden change in topic. "It pays better."

"And, sleep?" He was focused on me now. I fought the urge to shift under the weight of his gaze. I was an adult. I would not fidget like a schoolboy under the teacher's diligent stare.

"Did you find the heads, Erwin?" I watched the man as he sifted through his thoughts, then he blinked and the pensive stare was replaced once more with the calm exterior that typically irritated me. But, just now, it was a welcome sight. Anything was better than that look from before. "No, not yet. Do you have any answers for me, Levi?" His voice gave away more than his expression ever could; the words rough and pebbled with weariness. 

"It's not ghouls or zombies." I wished I could give him more. I really did. If it would ease the shadows that had begun to circle his eyes, I would have stared at more bodies. I would have inhaled death and decay, sifted through organs and entrails. But, that was what he was trying to avoid, wasn't it? More bodies, more victims, more clues. It was fucked. I rolled and snapped the gloves off my hands, removed the mask from my mouth and slid my sunglasses back into place. "Let me know if the M.E. finds anything. I'll think on it."

"Thank you, Levi."

I could smell rain on the breeze. A summer storm was coming. I walked a bit faster to my car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is. I wasn't sure what all to include or not include. So I kept cutting and adding whole sections that I had typed. :( It's a bit boring, I'm afraid. Should be more energetic next chapter! Thanks for clicking and reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Bott's Beans, Brews & Booze would not have been my first pick for a coffeehouse name. It was a mouthful to say, but it certainly was not easy to forget. In a city littered with franchised coffee and tea shops, there was little reason to make the extra effort to visit the small family-owned business located just outside of the downtown area. It was an old shop, and not at all aesthetically appealing from the exterior. Located in the ground floor of a brick building, it only had a painted sign hanging over the door, and its own faded name scrawled in what probably was once golden cursive letters. It did not look like much; and it certainly did not garner much attention from tourists seeking out their daily caffeine fix. It was one of the reasons that I frequented the place whenever I was in the area. 

The other reasons? Well, mostly, it was in the name. How many coffee and tea shops did you know with a license to serve liquor? And, almost more important than its small customer base was the fact that the shabby, ill-maintained exterior did not transfer over to the interior. The bell chimed overhead, chipper and ignorant as ever, as I ducked into Bott's just as the first heavy drops of rain hit the pavement. I was grateful not to drag a wet umbrella inside the place. Despite the exterior, the coffeehouse was exceptionally clean. A fact that I never realized how much I appreciated, but always dawned on me with every visit to the place.

The shop was empty of customers and workers, which was not an entirely uncommon occurrence. It would have been a welcome sight, especially considering how I had spent my morning. Except I could not yet relax. My nerves were on edge when I entered, sidestepped and pressed my body to the small section of wall tucked behind a tall plant by the door. I grabbed one of the wooden stirring sticks placed in a cup on the little cabinet, and waited. 

The door to the back kitchen opened ahead of me, the owner walking towards the counter with a smile, confusion clouding the warm greeting that he looked prepared to give. I only had to shake my head once for the owner to stop, his eyes searching my face for a moment before moving to the door and away as if I was not there in front of him. Good man. The owner was a long term acquaintance of mine ever since I had frequented the shop, and he proved to be worth more than his number of years in terms of his skill in the kitchen. At least when it came to pastries, bread and drinks. Anything that extended beyond the short list of food offerings at the cafe, and I've heard that he was absolutely hopeless. I didn't judge. He made a damned good cup of anything. 

Marco Bott turned his attention to the task of wiping his counter by the register, but I recognized that he still kept his eyes alert on the door. I would be grateful later. For now, I had to wait. I had noticed it earlier, when I had left my apartment to go to Santa Maria's that an old truck had followed me. Call it an aftereffect of my previous profession, but I tended to be a bit cautious (not paranoid) when it came to unknown vehicles trailing my movements. At first, I had thought nothing of it. I had lost sight of it, and shrugged the notion off. Until I had turned to leave the cemetery, and saw the same truck parked far ahead in the cemetery's single road. 

It had seemed to follow me out of the cemetery, and for a minute into the city. But, after a while, I once again no longer saw it in my rearview. That is, until I pulled into the parking lane just outside of the coffee shop and saw its familiar dark shape just as it turned onto the street.

Marco Bott had stopped wiping the counter, head turned to face the door completely just as it opened. He wore a smile as he greeted the person, and his eyes opened a fraction wider when he must have realized his mistake. I had already grabbed the person, pulled an arm up and behind them with one hand as I stepped behind, the other hand used to press the thin wooden stick to the person's ear. It might not kill the person, but it would be effective enough to keep them from moving. Hopefully. I assumed most would not want to risk being stabbed through the ear. For now, I had what I needed- an immobile target.

"Captain- wait!" Marco attempted to call me off, but what was done was done. I stood, staring at the back of my stalker, feeling a sense of familiarity that could not quite deter me from my task. The person, to his credit, only grunted at the sharp pull on his arm, but otherwise, said nothing for a long moment. Whether he was surprised, scared, or simply professional, I could not say.

"..Marco?" The voice, once again familiar, was low and quiet. It trembled only in the beginning. 

"Eren, hold on. Captain, it's not what you think," Marco had already made his way around the counter. Worry and confusion were plastered across his face as he approached, hands up in a non-hostile display.

"Eren?" The name clicked into place. I stared at the back of damp cinnamon-brown hair that was noticeably several inches taller, even as the man was stooped under the pressure of the bent arm that I held. I did not release him. The name and the sense of familiarity now made sense. But, why? Why was Eren Jaeger here? He lived outside of town, or so he had told me yesterday. And, he was following me now?

"Yes. Eren. Eren Jaeger. He's my new hire." Marco looked nervously at the stick that I held steady to his new worker's ear.

 

 

 

Bott's was conveniently closed for the next hour, at the behest of its owner. After the earlier situation, we both had questions and wanted to be uninterrupted when he demanded our answers from the green-eyed young man. Not that we had to worry about customers with the fury of the summer storm that raged outside. Eren Jaeger had been forced to sit at a table and wait as Marco fixed up some tea and warmed a plate of croissants. Though, I wanted answers first and foremost, I was grateful for his host-like tendency and agreed to sit at the table and not harm his new worker any further without just cause. Eren wisely sat quiet through it all, his brows furrowed in thought as he directed his gaze to me. It was unnerving. Unsettling. The thought had occurred to me that _he_ should have been the one feeling this way. Yet, by the time Marco joined us at the table, I was more than ready to get the answers I needed and remove myself from the company of piercing green eyes.

"What is going on, Eren?" Marco asked.

"Why were you tailing me?" I demanded.

Eren blinked at the two of us, unperturbed- bemused, even. When he moved, it was to cup his neck, scratching at his nape. White teeth peeked out of the sheepish grin he put on display, and his eyes were still too intense for the image he projected. "I was just going to work. I was surprised to see you here too." Marco looked between the two of us silently, trying to piece together what little he knew.

"And at the cemetery?" I demanded.

The display fell, his body gone rigid as his hand fell back to his lap. I imagined that he held fists over his knees, thought I could not see them without looking under the table. Marco shifted in his seat beside me. I knew any mention of my current occupation made him uncomfortable; I didn't have the time to worry about that. "I didn't think you'd seen me."

"Former detective, remember?" I flung the words at him, meant to sting him with the reminder that he and his girlfriend had used just yesterday. He flinched, and I wanted the victory- but it felt hollow. "So, why?"

"I thought you had a lead. I wanted to see.." He sounded apologetic, but I knew it wasn't for stalking me.

"You brought me the case yesterday. Why would you think I had a lead so soon?" It made no sense. His eyes wandered to the corner of the table, and I could almost see the little hamster wheel spinning furiously as he thought of his answer. I reached for my tea, brought the cup to my lips and watched as it brought his attention back to me. "Think hard on the lie you want to tell right now, kid." 

It was like pulling teeth. Or, so it seemed. He seemed visibly pained by my words, or by his own, as he spoke. "I overheard you yesterday. Your phone call. You're going somewhere. It sounded like part of a job.. so I thought it was our case." It was the truth. I'm not sure what bothered him about admitting it. Did he hate that he was caught? Hate that he would have been caught in a lie had he told one? It didn't matter. Not to me. "But then you went to a cemetery. And it wasn't what I thought. So, I just went to work.. I didn't expect to see you here. I didn't think you were going to try and ambush me with a fucking stirring stick."

He sighed, his body curled in as he looked down at his lap. "I just didn't want to miss out if it was Armin."

"Eren," Marco sighed. He must have known that Armin was missing. It didn't even occur to me that he knew the missing person.

I almost felt guilty for probably traumatizing the kid. Not that he currently seemed the least bit affected by his intimate encounter with a stirrer. "A phone call would have been more than sufficient. Less.." I was at a loss for the word. Less hostile? Less invasive?

"Creepy?" Eren offered, eyes peeking up from the messy fringe of hair. I huffed, but gave a single nod. He said it, not me.

"No offense, but you don't really seem the type to show and tell." Well, he got me there. I couldn't even deny it. I sipped my tea that had gone cold during the discussion. Marco, the ever-gracious host, must have realized it, because he stood up, gathering the cups on a platter as soon as I had set mine down. 

"I'll bring hot tea, sir. Eren.. try not to force the Captain's hand." Marco excused himself. He seemed satisfied with whatever the situation had become now.

I reached for a croissant, aware that the kid had not stopped staring. He wasn't even trying to hide it. I wondered if he was even _aware_ that he was staring. "You might as well take a damned picture," I muttered. I hated my photo taken, but if it meant he'd blink or something, I'd risk my soul at this point.

"I've seen the pictures." Cheeky brat. At least, he blinked. He snatched up a croissant from the plate, bit a mouthful of the fluffy pastry and chewed. Savage. He paused when he went to take another large bite, his mouth opened wide for his next more-than-likely tasteless gulp of food. He was staring again.

"What?" I said, my attempt to keep calm crumbling under all of the fucking attention.

His eyes drifted to my hand, my index finger tapping against the table. "Nothing," he lied. I forced my hand to still, but I could feel the headache that was beginning to pulse behind my eyes. He said nothing else and bit a small corner of his croissant. I swore he was laughing at me, but I couldn't pinpoint how or why. When Marco returned with tea, I was grateful for the calming liquid.

"So.. do you have a lead?" 

I debated on telling him 'no'. It might get him off my back. Then, again, looking at the firm resolve that all but glowed in his eyes, he'd probably just keep stalking me. It should have been creepy, weird even. Instead, I found myself somewhat impressed. It wasn't everyday you found someone with that much determination; not for someone else, anyway. Maybe I was just being weird. I answered, "Yes."

To his credit, he did not immediately descend upon me with questions. Eren waited, even as he fidgeted with the handle of his cup, shifted in his seat, tapped his foot on the floor. I wondered how long he would have squirmed if I said nothing. But, I gave in first. "There's a club downtown that's run by a friend of mine. I might find some information there." Was I going soft? No. I just knew that if I didn't answer, he would continue to pester me. It was the lesser of two evils. 

"When? Tonight?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm coming." He polished off the last of his croissant, specks of crumbs around his mouth that distracted me for a second. Couldn't he eat like an adult? Unconsciously, I reached for my own mouth, brushed at non-existent crumbs around it as if it would also clean his own mess. He frowned at me, scrubbed his fingers over his mouth and chin, and repeated with emphasis, "I'm coming."

"I heard you. And, no." I dropped my hand to the table and reached for my croissant that I had yet to taste.

"What club?"

I ignored him and instead savored my buttery pastry. Small, steady bites; not nibbles, not tasteless mouthfuls.

"Is it The Underground?" That caught my attention. I had never said the name over the phone. My face must have shown some of my surprise, because he nodded his head once, seemed grim and triumphant all at once. A remarkable feat, really. "It is. I knew it." It was my turn to stare. A fact that he did not miss. He busied himself, rising partially from his chair to tug his phone out of his pocket. Again, the screen showed a picture of the trio, smiling faces undaunted by the fact that one of them was missing.

I lost sight of the screen when he started to use it. I wondered if he was giving me a taste of my own medicine, as I was left just looking at him in silence. Waiting for an answer to a question that I did not yet ask. When he turned the screen to me again, my brain needed a moment to register what my eyes were seeing. It was a picture of a paper. A pay stub addressed to Armin Arlert from The Underground- dated last week.

"You didn't say he worked there," I sounded accusatory. 

"I didn't know until last night. I'm staying at his place, and when I went through his stuff to find a clue, I found this."

"Send it to me." I did not want to believe that Farlan would lie about his staff and whom he had employed. Not to me, anyway. But, it was always better to come with proof. In any case, it might come in handy somehow. Eren clutched his phone, and scowled at me. "No," he said, "Not unless I go with you."

"Don't you have to work here?"

"I don't start till tomorrow."

"This isn't some field trip, kid. It's _downtown_." I was not going to babysit. I put emphasis on the location, as if that alone would scare him into his right mind.

"So?" 

I blanched. Did he not know what that meant? Downtown was like the central hub for all that goes bump in the night. If he didn't understand that, then it was especially important that he did not accompany me.

"I'm not scared of the monsters," he stated. "I'm going. Whether you take me or I find my own way."

Well, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I lied. This chapter was also boring. Probably. BUT next chapter~! Actually. Idk. I hope it's better. >_<;
> 
> Thank you to those that gave a virtual thumbs up, left a comment, or even just clicked around. TT n TT You are beautiful.


	4. Chapter 4

Downtown, though simply named, was widely known as the literal haunt of all that were not identifiable as humans. It was also the major tourist attraction of Trost; hundreds, probably thousands, flocked to the area day and night to catch a sight of the supernatural. Not that the 'otherworldly' were hard to find. During the day, downtown was less busy, though that still did not adequately describe the droves of tourists that sought out the shops of local witches, voodoo priestesses, and ghouls or zombie shows. There was even a popular comedy act between a zombie and his owner. I didn't get the humor, but I've heard- repeatedly- that it's to die for.

At night, bars, strip joints, clubs, restaurants and various other entertainment businesses advertised their services and employees in bold neon signs and dazzling LED screens. 'Pick your poison' was one such literal advertisement hung over a bar's window, the neon outline of bats flocking around the words. It was tasteless and all too cheesy. But, it was obviously a fantastic business model- humans practically served themselves up on a silver platter. Personally, I tried to avoid the whole area if I could. Yet, here I was. Back again. 

The Underground was not an exception to the rule, just a step up from the usual trash that dazzled the foolish (or the tourists). It had changed over the years from what I remembered, and had evolved from a seedy strip joint to one of the classiest clubs in the city. Hell, even the Mayor had visited the place during his campaign- a major controversy at the time. And, now, it was managed by an old acquaintance from my youth. An acquaintance that had also changed since my youth. Even still, I made no exceptions. Tonight, as usual, was not a polite visit.

Eren Jaeger was waiting for me outside of The Underground that evening, leaned casually and entirely unaware against the low brick and ironwrought wall that lined the outdoor patio of the night venue. He was rolling the sleeves of his blazer- and failing at it-, attention focused solely on the tedious task. I approached the young man in my own time. It gave me an opportunity to look at his finished appearance; his combed, styled hair, the dark jacket over a simple tee, snug pants and old boots. He lifted his head when I came close, an expectant look on his face. 

"Green?" I pointedly stared at his pants. They were a deep shade of forest green that were almost the shade of his own gaze. It made it hard not to look either way.

"Hey, my eyes are up here," he bent forward, intentionally making eye contact. As if I needed a reminder of his damned-- I felt myself scowl before I could rein it in. Triumph blossomed in the form of a grin that made his face glow. It was better to ignore him at this point. So, what stopped me?

I had to mentally shake off the thoughts. Priorities. I led the way around the line that crowded along the front of the building. If Eren followed, I didn't hear him. I didn't look back. It would have been easier if he didn't. Standing at the door, guarding the velvet rope, was another familiar face. It really should say something about my character that I recognize so many monsters- 

"Reiner Braun." 

-by name, no less. He was familiar in that I had bumped into him a few times during the last several years on official duty for the city. The tall, muscular blond had been involved in a few skirmishes, just a few rough and tumbles-- nothing extraordinary in the night scene. He had never been arrested, but it had been enough that I had remembered him. I could never quite peg what he was involved in- some lackey of a sort? This was the first time I'd seen him at work.

Reiner Braun had been watching us as we approached. I knew without lifting my eyes to his own. Call it a benefit of my previous profession, but I could typically tell when I was being watched. At his name, he offered a small grunt and a quirk of his lips. "Detective," he paused for a breath, just a moment so he could correct himself, "Wait- you've retired, I've heard." Not like he was asking.

"New job, Braun?" I eyed the word 'SECURITY' printed in bold letters over the snug black tee. Somehow, it did not surprise me. The position suited him- not really the security, but the part of taking orders. Drawing a line. Following like a good little soldier. He always struck me as a lackey, but to what.. I had never figured it out in my time as an officer. It wasn't much of my business now.

He rolled his shoulders and neck, flexed and crossed his arms in what should have been an impressive display of his own sculpted mass. If he meant to be intimidating, I'd seen worse. I'd seen corpses, just flesh and bone, rip healthy limbs from a torso- muscles meant little for the supernatural. But, I guess, it didn't hurt. Reiner grinned, almost beamed as if proud, "Something like that. I've been promoted." He paused, then; his chipper mood, if that's what it was, fading. "You've come for a reason, Captain?"

I really need a new name or something. It was getting old, being reminded of a title that I no longer held. I let it go because it was better than being called by own name. Somehow that felt too personal for the bodyguard. "I've got a reservation."

He reached for his back pocket, tugged out his phone and scrolled through the device. After a moment, he clicked it off and slid it back to place. Reiner squinted just over my shoulder, his chin tilted down just a bit, and I knew we had finally come to the topic of my newly acquired shadow. "And Bright Eyes? Didn't say anything about a plus one."

Eren had kept remarkably quiet at my side, though he had stepped close- close enough that I felt his warmth and he had yet to make contact with me. He was frowning directly at Braun, brows drawn low, gaze intense as he watched the bodyguard.

He was staring straight at the blond. As soon as I realized, I stepped back just a bit, grinding my heel down on the toe of his boot. It was enough for him to grunt and look down. The damned idiot- how little did he know about downtown and its denizens? Apparently, very little if he was trying to win a staring contest with a fucking vampire. 

"Just ask Farlan." I kept my tone bland, played ignorant to the fact that I was crushing my companion's foot and that Reiner all too obviously had noticed. He paused, body half-turned, and I knew he was staring at Eren. "Now."

"Right. It'll be a moment." Then he disappeared behind the front doors. I turned slowly to face my current predicament, letting out a breath as I looked the brunette over.

"How do you know him?" Eren, it seemed, was less concerned about the almost complete fuckery he had just escaped. Rather, he was completely oblivious. That, too, was amazing in its own way. Had he lived in a complete bubble back home? 

"This is not the time for your questions. Now, you need to listen." I refused to break eye contact now that I had it. "If you're going to follow me in there, you need to remember three things."

His frown faded under the severity of my words and tone, and he nodded slowly, eyes wide enough that white circled the color of his irises.

"Good. Now, listen, brat." I reached for his sleeve, left unrolled and forgotten by his side. He was a fucking handful. As I spoke, I began to fold it up, "Do not wander off. You're an adult and I am not a babysitter." He seemed ready to protest, but I continued, "Do not spill blood, yours or theirs. We're not here for a fight, and you don't want to be a meal." That seemed to shut him up. 

Good. I was getting to the most important rule. One that few seemed to remember because it seemed so harmless and natural. I finished rolling the sleeve to nearly his elbow, used the task to forcefully tug him close because I needed to be sure I had his attention. "If you cannot remember anything else, remember this: Do not make eye contact. Stare at anything else, I don't care. Just do not meet their eyes. Even I can't save your ass from a mind fuck, Bright Eyes." 

His cheeks flushed at the nickname. Whether it was in anger or embarrassment, over the nickname or his own realization of his mistake, I had no time to find out. The front door opened, and Reiner Braun beckoned us to enter.

 

 

"Whoa," Eren exhaled just under his breath, awe evident in the single word.

Like most of downtown, The Underground appeared to be just another old building on the exterior. The interior was still old, reminiscent of what I assumed to be upscale clubs of an older decade, but had been renovated with touches of the modern. It was dark, the ambient lights kept toned down in cool hues of greens, blues, and violets. The dim white spotlights were reserved for the stage that cut through the center of the floor, like a catwalk or- in my experience, a strip club. Because, despite all of its high class touches of round tables, white tablecloths, and gleaming champagne flutes-- The Underground was nothing more than a fancy, unique strip joint. 

"Have you never been to a club, kid?"

"Are you a regular, Levi?" He snapped back, obviously annoyed. I'd probably gotten under his skin with my rules from earlier. Fine. If it reminded him, then better that it was me rather than a bloodsucker- or worse. There was plenty worse. 

I only offered a small hum in answer, unwilling to rise to the bait. No point. Let him take in all of the glitter and flashing lights, before reality came crashing down. Because I certainly wasn't here for entertainment. I led the way to the bar, sliding onto the stool and watched in the large mirror against the wall as he followed suit. Our eyes met for a brief moment in the reflection before he broke the contact, turned his attention to catwalk where three dancers were prepping for a routine.

"What's your poison, mister?" Isabel Magnolia walked behind the bar, dressed in a male server's attire akin to a bowtie and tuxedo without the jacket. She already had a bottle in hand as she stepped across from me, toothy grin in place as she set two glasses down on the wood top. "That was a pretty cool line, wasn't it, bro?"

I huffed a laugh that choked into a cough. I couldn't stop myself; trying only made it worse. But, shit, if I didn't at least try. It was an old joke; one that should not have been funny, years later. I felt myself relax out of warm familiarity with the redhead, tapping two fingers on one glass. She filled it, two fingers of whiskey, just perfectly. Just like old times.

Eren's stare was burning a hole in the side of my face. He was curious; that much would have been obvious. As much as the brat had watched me, he had probably never seen me act like this. I rarely did. Only a handful of people brought this warmth, this ease, out of me. "Isabel, this is-" I began the introduction.

"Bright Eyes!" She proclaimed, cutting me off. "Reiner wasn't kidding." She leaned against the bar, closing the distance between herself and Eren. To his credit, he averted his gaze to the side. To me. For all that is holy.. at least he was consistent. Fuck. She whistled low, and leaned away when she finished her inspection. "Farlan's gonna love this. Bro's got himself a pretty one."

"No." I stated flatly.

"What- no," Eren blustered. "I- Levi-"

"You call him by name?" Damned Isabel for being astute at the oddest of moments. Her smile only grew wider, and she looked every bit the picture of a cat that got the cream. 

"The lady doth protest too much, methinks," Farlan Church appeared, on cue, behind us. He rapped his knuckles on the counter and Isabel pushed the second glass of whiskey into his hand. Like old times. He smiled, every bit of the polite, cool gentleman. At least, on the exterior. It was a part he played well. 

"Eren," I cut in, before the two could continue with their enthused chatter, "Is a client."

"Shame," Farlan expressed, with an appropriate lack of said emotion.

"Lame," Isabel declared simultaneously. 

"Really?" Eren was exasperated. I didn't blame him. This was nothing new. The pair seemed to enjoy carrying a conversation around me, without much input from me or anyone else. Generally, it was better to just leave them to their own devices. But, this evening, in the den of the so-called enemy (because humans were only prey here), I did not want to linger. Not with an innocent like Eren Jaeger.

"Can you blame our forward thinking, Levi? You don't typically bring your clients here," Farlan raised his glass and I mimicked the motion, tapping them together.

"Or anywhere," Isabel mused loudly, "Unless it's to the graveyard. You must want something else then, Bright Eyes."

"Look, _Little Red._ I'm not the usual client. And, it's Eren. Eren Jaeger."

" _Little?_ " 

It was my cue to bring the conversation back to topic. Not that I blamed, Isabel. Height was a sensitive issue. But, only because others thought that 'short' or 'little' equaled 'weak.' 

"Farlan," I addressed the only other adult at the bar, "We're looking for his friend: Armin Arlert." I purposefully turned an expectant gaze at Eren, whom was at least managing to glare at Isabel's chin. Smart brat- he remembered the most important rule. Even though he was dangerously close to breaking the second rule ('don't spill blood'). He reached into his jacket and procured his phone, turning it on and facing it towards us. It was the familiar picture of the trio.

"He's the blond."

Farlan was quiet for a moment. Just long enough that made me turn a suspicious frown to him. I set my glass down, the whiskey barely touched, and tried to fix him with my best stare. It is not an easy task when you can't make eye contact. "Farlan?" I prompted.

"Ah," he snapped out of his thoughts. I could tell he was bothered. It showed when he raised the glass and emptied the liquor contents in one gulp. "Yes. Armin Arlert."

"He works here," Eren stated. More like, accused. I should have added another rule: 'Keep your mouth shut.' But, it got the ball moving, and for that, I couldn't be too upset.

"He does." Farlan confirmed. Isabel had grown silent, busying herself with removing our glasses. I was ready to tell them to just fucking spit it out, whatever it was, because the tension was just a little over the top for me. We all knew that Armin had been employed here, in some way, at some point in the recent past. Why was there such hesitation? Even if I rarely contacted the duo, they rarely kept secrets from me if I asked. This secrecy and tiptoeing around information irritated me. Admittedly, I felt my gut twist at the idea that maybe they were involved in something bad-- and they didn't trust me enough to say.

"Hey boss," a server jogged over. "The tables are filled, and the dancers are ready. Will you-?"

"Oh, right. Of course. Thanks, Jan. I'll get right on it." Farlan slid off the stool. "Isabel, you should get to work too."

I was ready to protest, to stop Farlan in his steps, but he cut me off. "Just a moment, Levi. Eren. This friend.. Armin, right?" He didn't wait for confirmation. "Well, you'll see." With that cryptic parting, he excused himself. Isabel had taken the opportunity to slink off to her work shortly after Farlan had stood up, so that just left.. 

"And, then there were two," Eren muttered. "What the hell was-"

The lights dimmed until it was too dark to see anything but silhouettes on the stage. Anxious squeals were heard throughout the club, followed by nervous laughter, then a hush fell over the tables. The music had quieted until it was a low hum, as the silhouettes arranged themselves along the catwalk, each assigned to their own pole.

The ambiance was perfectly staged. The music, the lights, and the almost palpable shimmer of excitement through the night club grew in unison: louder, brighter, stronger. At its peak, when the dancers and their lithe bodies were well lit once more, the crowd exploded with applause, cheers and whistles. Eren had joined in as well, though his cry had little to do with enthusiasm and more to do with- "Armin!"

There, on the center stage, on the center pole, was the little blond mushroom that I had been hired to find. Mission accomplished. Job well done. Except, as I squinted at the dancers, I noticed how precise- how exactly perfect their movements appeared. It wasn't just a fantastic routine- it was a very well-coordinated one, meant to arouse the crowd with each twist and turn. But, no matter how Armin Arlert curved and wound his body around the pole, I could not ignore that the movements seemed mechanical. 

Eren had already stood up. Ready to strut right onto the stage, if I had to guess. I grabbed his wrist and squeezed until he stopped. He almost pulled me off the stool. His lips were twisted in a snarl, eyes ablaze with anger, shock, and, maybe, betrayal. He clearly was not thinking.

"Wait. Let it finish."

"I'm not going to watch this!"

"Then close your damned eyes," I ground out, just loud enough so he could hear. 

"No." Fuck, the kid was being stubborn. Nothing new. But, it was just shitty timing. "Armin wouldn't do this. This isn't him. He's-"

"Why?" My question caught him off guard. I tightened my grip and tugged, pulling him close enough that our noses could have touched. He probably would have a bruise on his wrist later, but I couldn't care. He looked confused, and he had stopped talking. That was important. He was listening. "Why did he break your tradition? Why didn't he show up to your all-important sleepover?" Eren wanted to protest. His cheeks were flushed, I could see the darker tone over his face, even in the club's lighting. He was awash in colors, green eyes gleaming, golden skin blushed with anger and tinted with the cool tones of purple, blue, teal spotlights, and it would have been a sight to admire. I didn't have the luxury. "Why, Eren? Why was he here? So close to home and yet, he intentionally disappeared. /Think./"

"I-" The wheels were turning. I could see it as his eyes darted from the stage, from Armin, to me, and back again. Each time, his eyes lingered longer. "I don't know." The anger deflated from him, almost physically. His shoulders sagged, and he stopped resisting my hold. "I don't know," he repeated, and he sounded lost, confused. Join the club.

My job should have been done the moment I laid eyes on the no longer missing blond. Yet, "We'll get those answers. But, not by charging in like a mad bull. We wait," I promised. I kept hold of Eren's wrist throughout the entire performance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duh- duh- Dun~!  
> Armin the stripper. Who didn't see that coming?! >_> I tried to avoid it.. but, well, it worked out that way.  
> I struggled using characters this chapter. I wanted more conversation, interaction, etc. I feel like I know little about Farlan and Isabel- like, their mannerisms and whatnot. I borrowed from the OVA some. >_<   
> But. Yeah.  
> So, I finished this late.. there are probably many errors. Please let me know so I can edit them! I try to go back and edit myself, but I always miss something. It's what I get for writing late nights.  
> I'm going back to fix the ones I've been told. (Thank you, thank you for letting me know!)  
> Uh.. tell me what y'all think? And, as always, thank you for the support! /falls back to sleep/


	5. Chapter 5

Just when I had thought reason had won out. I had released his wrist, turned my attention back to the performance on stage, forced myself to watch the show. Not just Armin, but the other dancers needed to be watched- and, not just them, the servers, too. It didn't take longer than a minute. 

Reckless. Stubborn. Messy. Honest.

Eren cut through the tables with purpose, eyes set towards the catwalk. I was too late to stop him. I could have- maybe. I had felt the strength behind his resistance when I had initially grabbed him. It would have been a struggle, but I had experience- and that would have been the edge I needed to subdue him. If I had wanted to put on a show of my own.

But, it was too late, anyhow. Would have been too much of a distraction. So, I just kept distance, and watched. Let my eyes take in the people, seeking out a change in behavior, a threat. Because something was off about this performance, and I had no idea what had set it off tilt. A few guards were already making their way from the edges of the room, dark figures that strode with calm, sure purpose. If Eren noticed, it didn't slow him down. 

He was at the edge of the stage when the first guard reached him. The dancers had not faltered in their movements. Like a figurine in a music box, they danced mechanical and ignorant of their surroundings, still beautiful in its own perfectly designed way. Eren was going to be stopped. It didn't matter if he was determined; not in the face of supernatural strength. The guards were shapeshifters, more than likely, or vampires. It didn't matter which; they were stronger, faster.

Eren seemed to ignore the fact. Hell, he seemed to have been oblivious to the presence of the guards. The kid had a serious case of tunnel vision. Shit. I should have known better. I started forward. I didn't want the young man to get hurt, even if it would be only what he deserved. He should have listened. The guard had hold of Eren's elbow, started to pull him away.

The audience did not seem to notice, or care. I don't know which. As I moved through the tables, mindful of one of the guards watching me now, I realized that the crowd's attention seemed fixed on the stage. Not on Eren and the two security members that were circling upon him, but only on the dancers. It sent a chill along my spine. I increased my pace, my stride. But, so did the guard that had her eye on me.

Eren should have been secured by now. It surprised me when he wasn't. He had made it onto the stage, left the bodyguard scrambling after him. I caught a glimpse of wide eyes on the guard's face as he turned away from the stage, obviously seeking instruction from the rest of his team. The dancers kept grinding, enticing, to the music, and the crowd only cheered at Eren's appearance. He stopped in front of Armin, whom had pressed his body against the pole, back arched and arms stretched above head in an inviting display. 

The blond was panting, his bare chest rising and falling in short, quick breaths, sweat glistened under the lights as he stared up at his friend. His hand moved and he made to swing around the pole, a continuation of the dance, but Eren stopped him. He pulled him into his arms roughly, and the audience erupted in a loud applause, catcalls and enthused whistles resounding in my ears. I saw movement from the left of the stage, a pale hand waving and red hair peeking out from behind the curtain. 

I changed direction, heading directly for the side entrance. The single security member on my tail kept her distance, followed but made no move to approach me. Oddly, the other two guards just hovered at the edge of the stage, seemingly at a loss on how to get Eren without disrupting the show further. Eren, on the other hand, lacked that hesitation. He gathered Armin Arlert in his arms effortlessly, cradling the other man close as if to shield him with his own body, and headed in the direction of Isabel.

The show ended just as I reached the first step to the stage. I hurried along the several steps, didn't slow even when I saw the two standing beside Isabel and Farlan. Isabel looked nervous, an odd behavior for the redhead. She was wringing her fingers, squeezing her hands together as she spoke, her mouth moving quickly. I couldn't hear with the music still thrumming overhead.

"-he wasn't hurt, I swear." I caught the end of what seemed to be an apologetic explanation. I had already shrugged out of my jacket, aware that the knife sheath and holster that I had kept discreet under the material was now apparent to all. I tossed the jacket over the cradled blond, felt the storm of Eren's emotions prickle along my arm when I got close, and hid my grimace behind a scowl. 

He didn't look forgiving. Nor did he seem to regret his actions. I shouldn't have been satisfied with that. 

"Someone," I focused on my old friends, "had better explain." At best, the dancers were just under the influence of drugs. Now, what kind of cocktail could make a person just move along like robotic little figures, I couldn't begin to fathom. And, even then.. it still edged on unlawful. At worst, there was something otherworldly going on. Taking a person's will via supernatural means was grounds for arrest, and typically, that led to execution. The law did not judge favorably on preternatural criminals. As humans, we just hadn't figured out how to punish or properly confine our newly recognized citizens in singular quantity- let alone in mass prison population.

"I didn't know he was considered missing," Farlan offered, as if that was good enough. I wished I could have lifted my glare to meet his eyes, to stare him down and let him know that he had fucked up somehow. That this was fucked up.

"The dancers. Did you-" I began. I could feel my own anger rising, mixed with a twinge of bitterness. It felt like betrayal.

"No." Isabel and Farlan all but shouted. Several of the dancers in the backstage looked at us (at least they weren't all under hypnotism). 

Farlan jerked his head towards another set of stairs that led to his upstairs office. "Let's talk upstairs. Please." I could hear the sincerity of his plea. And, years of history, I had never heard him plead. It was the only reason why I let him lead the way. Otherwise, I did not know if I could follow, even if I had questions that I needed to be answered. Because, if the answers weren't what I needed to hear, if this was as bad as it seemed, could I put a target on Farlan's back? Because he would be a criminal; I was obligated to do so. 

It bothered me to think that I could. It scared me a bit to think that I wouldn't. 

Eren had yet to say a word. There was no hint that he intended to release his hold of Armin, whom had also maintained silence. I felt him step close to me, and I assumed he meant to follow. It surprised me when he leaned close, voice low and just barely heard over the music: "Thank you." I looked at him, and his eyes flicked down to my jacket that the blond seemed to huddle under. Up close, I could see that they were trembling. Eren, more than likely, from a mix of anger, relief and happiness that he had found his friend. Armin.. his eyes seemed glazed, distant even in the club's dim ambient lights. But, they gleamed wet, barely contained tears. 

I turned away. "Don't thank me."

 

 

 

 

Farlan had leaned against the front of the desk, Isabel seated in the executive chair behind him. She looked dejected, her hands in her lap and her head lowered so I could not see her face. 

"Please, close the door." Farlan requested quietly. Eren kicked the door shut, and Isabel flinched at the sound. The office was suddenly silent; the walls soundproof, if I had to guess. I rolled my shoulder, attempting to loosen the tension that had stiffened along my dominant arm. It drew Farlan's attention to the knife in its sheath against my chest, and I could only think: good. It wasn't a gun; I couldn't carry that into the club legally, but a knife was better than nothing.

I just had never thought I'd need to show it to my friends.

"You can set him there," Farlan played the host well, despite the tension that staled in the air. He waved a hand to the dark leather couch against the wall. Eren glanced at it, and frowned. He looked to me, and it took a moment for me to realize he was waiting for me. I gave a slight nod of his head. Only then did the brunet set Armin down on the couch, and the young blond just rolled to his side and tried to pull the jacket around him in a cocoon. He was only topless, and barefoot, but I am sure he felt as if he were exposed. Vulnerable. I would have, if I were in that position.

Eren stood in front of the couch, arms straight at his side, like some large guard dog. Seconds ticked by, and they felt like eternity. The silence was like high pitch buzz.

"Well?" I prompted, eager to get the ball rolling. If shit was going to hit the fan, I'd rather it be sooner.

Isabel, ever the talkative one, was the first to speak up. Though, it was a rush of more apologies, "Levi, you have to believe us. We had no idea. Farlan- he was just-"

"Enough apologies, Isabel," Farlan was the one that stopped her.

"Farlan-" 

"Enough." 

She sucked in her breath, swallowed her words, and I saw her tremble.

"Look," Eren was speaking now, his voice rough as if his emotions had scraped him raw, "I don't care if you're friends, or whatever the hell is going on here. But, someone better explain what the fuck is wrong with Armin. Why was here out there? He wouldn't-" He clenched his jaw, his teeth clicking together in a loud, dull snap that made me wince. He lowered his voice, stared at his boots as he finished, "He wouldn't do that."

"Did you," he started again, and he was trembling when he raised his eyes, stared at Farlan, "Did you do that to him?" He was moving forward, caught up in his anger.

The damned fool.

I was moving as soon as I saw his movement, the moment he had lifted his gaze to Farlan's. My hand came up, palm open and fingers spread to cover his forehead and eyes as I shoved him hard back and down. It was like guiding my hand through a body of water; there was resistance, but that was only natural. He still gave way under pressure; I felt him give, reluctant but willing. He moved under my effort until he was seated on the edge of the couch, my hand still laid over his face. He did not struggle, but he did not lower his head.

Farlan had not moved, though Isabel had come to stand from the chair. I watched both of them, kept my expression cautiously neutral. 

"You had nothing to do with Armin's or the dancers'.. condition," I stated. Farlan nodded. "Explain."

"I'm not sure how much I can say."

"All of it, Farlan."

"It's..complicated." He sighed, and tilted his head back, moving it side to side stretch his neck. I could understand. My own muscles felt too tight. I would probably have knots that required professional help at this rate. Not that I'd have time to get it. I moved my hand to Eren's shoulder. It wasn't my dominant hand, so this much would be okay. I just needed to be sure that the young man would stay put. This seemed to work so far.

"Armin does work here. Of his own accord. He was a bartender, a good one. He's a good kid.. we liked him." I could feel Eren stiffen under my hand. I squeezed his shoulder, tried to communicate: 'behave.' Not that I blamed him. The comment was sincere- I knew it because I knew Farlan, or I thought I did at one point- but it might as well have been empty platitudes in this situation. I waited for him to continue.

"Last week, he showed up with.. Well, he seemed odd. He requested to be a dancer. He's popular, you know? So, it'd be good money for him. But, I thought it was strange.. He'd never seemed interested before. And, we had joked about it. But, he insisted."

Farlan continued, his words still calm, clearly spoken, but he had reached to tug at his necktie. "He's not very good at it. Not at first. In fact, it didn't look like he really felt comfortable. I thought it was just nerves. Isabel had noticed it, so she went to talk to him-"

"I did. Farlan doesn't like to run the club like that, bro. You have to believe us," Isabel interrupted, moving around the desk to stand by Farlan. "I told him to just go back to bartending. And, I thought it was fine. Then, he showed up the next day.. and was just weird. Like, really weird." She gestured towards the couch where the topic of our conversation was still silent and trembling under my jacket. By her explanation, Armin had, in the past few days, been caught in someone's mental trap, and was now under someone's suggestion.

"And, that didn't raise any alarms? You didn't think to report that? It's illegal for a human to be under suggestion without consent, Farlan." Even though they seemed innocent, Farlan, at least, still knew better. He had an obligation to report the incident. His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenched. I knew without looking into his eyes that my accusatory tone pained him.

Damned if that didn't make me feel guilty. I shouldn't feel bad.

"Armin isn't human." Somehow, I had forgotten. Eren's breath escaped in a hiss between his teeth. "And, as far as I could tell, it was something he had kept secret. I wanted to respect that."

"Respect?" Eren spat the word out, disgusted. At least he wasn't trying to stand. "You knew he wouldn't have gone out there. Respect?" A dry bark left his mouth as he spat the word. "If you had respect for him, you would not have let him go out there."

"We're sorry this happened to him," Isabel snapped, "But, Farlan did what he could. We couldn't force Armin to not dance when he insisted. And we especially can't go against the Master."

"Isabel!" Farlan was too late to interrupt her angry flurry of words. And, she was too late to shut her mouth. Her lips were parted in a small 'o' as she realized.

"The Master of the City?" It was the second time in two days that the Master had been mentioned in relation with Armin. I glanced down to Eren; he looked ready to tackle the pair, whatever it would take to find out. I frowned. 

I was aware of the Master. It was like a higher power for the vampires of a region, and if the right bloodsucker held the position, they could also call certain shapeshifters under their wing. Generally, it was the Master's duty to uphold the law amongst their kind, not to break it. But, Farlan was right: Armin was technically not human. As a shapeshifter, he was closer to the vampires and their ilk than any human.

To make matters worse, even if I were still a detective, I couldn't arrest the Master. Hell, as a legal vampire executioner, I couldn't even kill him/her/it, even if I had a warrant. I didn't know who the Master was, and the preternatural community generally kept their secrets to themselves around the police (let alone me). To top it all off, even if I had knowledge of the Master's identity, could I confidently claim that I could do anything about it? I assumed you don't get to be Master of the fucking City by being a sneaking, creepy weakling.

But, what I did know was that Farlan and Isabel truly had meant little harm for the quiet, trembling blond on the couch. "Can you release him from the mind control?" I asked Farlan, hopeful, but doubtful. I felt tired. 

"I can. Probably. But, it's more than that," he sounded as tired as I felt.

"Just cut to the chase, Farlan. I'm done with the tiptoeing."

"He's the Master's to call." I must have looked annoyed, because it was Isabel that hurriedly explained. It had always bothered her the most when I was irritated at them. Especially now, she worked to smooth the ripples in our friendship. "He's a shapeshifter, but not just any kind of furry. He's the Master's animal."

"What animal?" Eren asked, seemingly have calmed down, though anger still simmered just under his skin. I felt in the minute vibrations under my hand. Even now, as he listened and thought, he was eager to just react. To do something. Everyone's got a character flaw. I knew firsthand of the brunet's own flaws. But, angry as he was, curiosity had won out. He wanted answers more than he wanted violence or vengeance. He wasn't hopeless. This time.

"You don't know?" Isabel seemed surprised. "But you're friends...?" She was genuinely puzzled. I didn't blame her. It surprised me too; I must have hid my reaction better. Eren had been the one to tell me of his friend's condition, but neither Mikasa nor the brunette had offered much more information. It hadn't seemed that important at the time.

"Just tell me." Eren demanded.

"Rat. He's a rat. Geez."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chap feels short to me, and I wanted to do more. But, I also can't write a dancing scene? lol Anyway, it felt better to end it where I did.  
> I hope I did okay with Farlan and Isabel. I tried to keep true to character, but I don't know much about them. ._.  
> And, as always, thank you for the kudos, hits, and comments! :D Truly, it's a welcome surprise.


	6. Chapter 6

Armin Arlert was a rat. Eren Jaeger had no clue. And neither did I. Except he was the self-proclaimed best friend, and should have known everything. Or, at least, it had seemed that way. Then again, I was the hired investigator- and I hadn't even bothered to ask. It was a toss up of who was shittier at their job. The notion that I might win that toss-up was enough to tip the cautiously balanced scale of my patience.

Irritation was the obvious reaction. I welcomed it.

Eren Jaeger had turned his attention to his friend, gaze set upon the lump that remained huddled under my jacket. Anyone could tell that he was imagining it: trying to picture a furry version of his friend. Had it never crossed his mind before? If it didn't then, it did now. But imagination could only go so far- if you'd never seen a shapeshifter in its 'true' form. There was one thing the movies got right: it was the fact that were-animals were fucking terrifying. 

"We're leaving." Eren said as he turned to help Armin stand. Whatever he had been thinking or imagining- it had done something to him; his hands trembled as he adjusted my jacket around the blond.

Armin still had not spoken up. I frowned. 

"Not yet. We're not done here," and I raised a hand just as Eren snapped his head to face me, his jaw clenched tight, a muscle ticking in the line of his neck. I continued, before the levee of his impatient rage finally broke, "He's still under suggestion. Can you undo that?"

For a moment, I caught a glimpse of Farlan's pale blue eyes widened from the edge of my vision. In shock or surprise, I wasn't sure which- or why. 

"It's not that easy, bro," Isabel filled the silence. "If the Master did it, _his_ Master, heck- _our_ Master, I don't think we're strong enough to fight that. Even if Farlan did, not without alerting-"

I grimaced. I didn't want to hear her say the title again. Master. Master. Mas- fuck, the word was starting to grate.

"And, what if it isn't?"

"Then, Farlan could probably undo it."

"Then, do it." Eren had interrupted. He had managed to sit Armin up, my jacket draped around the young man's shoulders. He held Eren's hand, clasped in his own palm, but did not lift his head from the floor. Eren lifted his own head to make eye contact with me- an improvement over his other choices, but not by much. "It's okay. Do it. Armin wants it. It's safe."

I hadn't heard the kid speak. Unless he'd whispered something to Eren whilst the adults in the room held discussion. Somehow, I doubt he said a word. I looked down at the clasped hands, the way Armin's squeezed Eren's own- it was a show of strength, affirmation, despite the minor tremors that made his body quiver. I sighed, slid my hands to my pockets. I did not like the risk, factors that I couldn't control- chances I had to take based on some unknown hypnotised shapeshifter's unspoken words. I had wracked my brain for solutions. There had to be a choice that was less of a gamble for the only two humans in this room- even if one of them was a loyal fool. 

There wasn't. I could only hope that whatever came from his choice, I could handle the consequences for the sake of all three of us.

"Fine. Do it, Farlan." I jerked my chin towards the pair. 

"Bro-"

"Levi-"

"Choices have consequences, Farlan. Make yours, and take responsibility." I eyed the two young men for a moment longer, my lips pressed into a thin frown. Something set me ill at ease. Farlan stepped over to Armin, stood in front of him and waited. Eren rose with the blond, an arm around his body to aid him to his feet.

He lifted his eyes to meet Farlan, jaw set in determination. There's nothing fancy to be seen or heard from hypnotism. It's not like all of those movies: the bloodsuckers don't waggle their fingers and command you in a long droning tone. A lot of magic just doesn't work like the cinema portrays; mostly, it's just done, unseen and without any flair. No poof, no sparkle. 

Armin blinked. Then, it was done. Or so I assumed. He stood taller, back straight in a posture that seemed more natural to the blond than the previous cowering thing he had been moments before. The pallid undertones of fear on his face was replaced with a flush of pink over his cheeks, the limpid blue of his eyes sparked with life and fire. The feeling of unease unfurled in my belly, made me feel as if whatever weight rested on my mind had now lodged itself in my gut.

"How do we know if the Master was alerted?"

"We won't." Farlan stated.

"He wasn't." Armin corrected, and offered no further explanation. I assumed it had something to do with his connection to the Master. 

He slid the jacket from his shoulders, and turned his attention to me. He had yet to address his best friend. Hm. Some friend. "Thank you." I reached for the offered jacket, and was caught off guard when he reached for my hand instead, giving it a firm shake. I almost yanked my hand back. The complete switch in personality and behavior was unsettling. 

"Sure," I grumbled, thankful when he released my hand.

"Armin-"

"Let's go," the blond interjected, strolling out of the office without another glance to his friend, boss or otherwise. Eren looked as if he wanted to protest but, miraculously, thought better of it-- he followed. I met his gaze briefly- a mixture of an apology, gratitude and confusion- Then, there were three.

Isabel whistled, her arms behind her head as she stretched. "I dunno why, but he's angry. Are they dating?"

"What? And, no." I hesitated. "I wouldn't know."

"Armin's not usually like that. He's a real sweetie, mostly. So, he must be mad at your client. You should go save him, bro," she grinned, and I could almost glimpse the sparkle of laughter in her emerald eyes.

"Not my problem." I grunted as I made my way to the door. Truthfully, I was curious. Why was Armin Arlert angry after it seemed like we just saved him? If only temporarily. It seemed as if it were just directed at Eren. Was it remnants of a personal argument prior to his disappearance? If so, then it was none of my business.

I paused at the door, one hand on the handle as I turned to address my own two friends. "Stay out of trouble. Clean up your club, Farlan."

"No promises, sir," Farlan half-smiled. I hid my answering smile with a scoff, and left. Whatever their problems, whatever our disagreements, they were my friends. I did not necessarily understand the intricacies of their world and the politics within it, but I wished them a safe, vastly long life.

 

 

 

The two young men were waiting outside of the club. Or, rather, they were standing, holding what seemed to be the argument that had been brewing between them earlier on. Armin had somehow found time to change into less conspicuous attire, and even so, he still seemed remarkably well-dressed in his jeans and collared shirt with cardigan. It was very.. safe. Not that I was one to judge. 

"-Mikasa even know, Eren?" Definitely angry, the blond spoke with barely a movement of his lips. His words came in a soft rushed whisper. He hadn't seen me yet as I approached from the side. I slowed, taking the time to monitor the situation.

Alright, eavesdrop. I was definitely eavesdropping. Call it an occupational hazard.

"What? No..? What does Mikasa even have to-- wait! Does she know you work here?" And, that was definitely disapproval. An accusation- and, betrayal? Eren did not like his blond friend working at the bar.. or as a stripper. Maybe both. He sounded incredulous and aghast that their missing third link might know one other thing about Armin. Poor kid was just learning all sorts of secrets.

"That is not the point."

"Oh! It isn't? It should be a point. It should really be a point. What else don't I know?" His hands waved and twisted in the air, Eren's whole body animating his own explosion of emotions. I wondered that Armin might want to step back, but the shorter male did not flinch. I saw him steel himself for a continuation of the argument- and as much as I enjoyed drama (I don't.), I decided it was time to step in.

"Unless you both want to be arrested for being a public disturbance, I'd carry on elsewhere." I reached into my pocket for my keys, and began to walk. Though I somehow felt unaccomplished, my task was complete. Missing person? No longer. I could go back to my day- eh, night job. To be honest, I was willing to squash whatever remote sense of incompletion I had about this contract. Something told me it would only get messier. 

A not so gentle hand on my arm stopped me just as I turned to split ways with the two men.

"Levi," it was Armin, and it frankly weirded me out how natural my name sounded on his lips, "Thank you again."

I wanted to rip my arm from his touch. I spared a glance to his hand, helpless to note that it was just that- a hand. No claws, no fur. Part of me wouldn't relax unless I had checked. I didn't flinch under his touch. "Just doing what I was paid. Next time, you should probably involve the police.."

He tilted his head, a spark flashed in alice blue eyes, and I wondered at the bemused quirk to his lips. "But you are." I almost snapped. What is with everyone knowing my background? But, with a shake of his head, and a strangely triumphant gleam in his eyes, he corrected, "Or, rather, you were."

I felt the non-existent chill in the summer air as it caressed up my arm and down my spine. I felt no qualm when I stepped back, put distance between the shapeshifter and myself. Fuck manners; my instincts told me to keep away. I didn't know what to say. I just stared, eyes narrowed as I tried to think of the underlying problem. What was the issue?

"Better yet, try not to go missing." I meant the words to dismiss him. I itched to rub the spot on my arm where his hand had touched, to warm over the chill that he had left behind. He smiled, a dimple in one cheek, and let out a dry laugh, "Yes, probably a better idea." He paused, and I could see him, thinking, debating. Forming his words. Whomever he had been when he was under suggestion was gone; this person was intelligent, cunning.. and he looked innocent. It was a bad combination. Whatever he had been about to say was interrupted by Eren, whom looked impatient as he all but stomped his foot, "Armin! 'Kasa's waiting!"

Annoyance flashed briefly in those pale blues, then was smoothed and gone. He waved a hand to Eren, and bobbed his head, blond hair swaying with the movement. "Thank you again for your work, Levi. See you around." Then, he spun on his heel and jogged back toward his friend.

I turned away slowly, all senses focused on the sounds of their voices as they carried further away in the opposite direction. I wanted to be sure that they were gone. My skin felt damp with cool sweat under my clothes, and I yearned to be in the relative safety and comfort of my apartment. A shower would be fantastic, in fact. I needed to wash off the sense that something wasn't right. It wouldn't leave me, clung to me like all of the cursed humidity in this city. The drive back to my apartment I replayed the conversation in my head until my brain throbbed with the words and Armin Arlert's voice.

'See you around.' He had said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, so apologies! Most of this has been typed up for ages, but I was hoping to add more and just couldn't move my words from brain to keyboard.

**Author's Note:**

> Any errors or typos? Please let me know. I hope I didn't fuck up too badly. /collapse/


End file.
